Hope Against Hope
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Wayward Sisters tag: Dean will do anything to get that beaten look off Sam's face.


**Hope Against Hope**  
**K Hanna Korossy**

Sam was hurting.

Not like Kaia's death wasn't on both of them, but Sam was taking an extra helping of blame. He'd helped convince her to help them, he'd been the one intent on getting back to alternate-reality world, he saw something of himself in her: who knew why? Dean was pretty sure even his brother didn't. Sam was just sitting in the passenger seat with slumped shoulders and faraway eyes and defeat carved into every line of his face.

But he'd also been the one to keep Dean going during the few weeks Cas was…dead. He'd been the one to keep the faith about Mom, to believe in Jack, and to hang on to hope. He'd been the one Dean had leaned on until Cas came back and Jack turned out to be a good kid and Dean could breathe again.

It had just taken its toll. The Bad Place had already screwed with them—Sam wasn't as used to survival worlds as Dean was—and Jack was gone, maybe for good, along with the plan to save Mom, and then Kaia…

So, yeah, Dean couldn't really blame him when they pulled into the garage and Sam silently gathered his stuff and trudged toward the exit.

The words popped out before he thought about it. "You wanna quit?"

Sam stopped, then twisted back, brow furrowed. "What?"

Dean went to shove his hands into his pockets, felt self-conscious, and crossed his arms instead. "We don't have to keep doing this."

Sam's frown deepened.

Right, Dean wasn't exactly being clear, but the words didn't come easy. This was territory he'd rarely let himself explore. "Look you said it yourself—we're spinnin' our wheels here. We got nothing on how to get to Mom. We're probably not gonna find Jack unless he figures out how. World's not trying to end itself, for once. So…we lock up the bunker, or find someone to pass it on to, and we quit. Go sit on a beach with those drinks with the little umbrellas. No more trying to come up with a plan or bein' freakin' Icarus all the time."

"Sisyphus," Sam quietly corrected.

Crap, he always mixed those two up. "Not the point, dude," Dean muttered, because he'd just offered up everything to Sam on a platter and could care less about the finer points of mythology right then.

Sam lowered his duffel to the floor and stood there the picture of dejection: the broad shoulders stooped, that stupid long hair lank and unwashed, eyes downcast and body stiff with the pain of yet more hunting injuries. And this was why Dean was offering: he didn't just want Sam back in the fight. He wanted him to be happy, or at least not broken.

Sam finally tilted his face up toward him. "Do _you_ want to…quit?"

"I…" And there was the kicker, because damned if Dean knew. Years ago it would've been _over my dead body_, then _over Sam's dead body, _then _not until we save the world/Sam's soul/Sam's sanity/Sam's angel-jacked body/MOM. _In between, there had been moments when, if he was being honest with himself, he had fantasized about leaving it all behind, finding a little place like that hunter couple had, or even just continuing Bobby's legacy as experts-in-residence. Sam could play librarian to his little geek heart's content, and Dean would be the badass weapons and training guy. Like Q, only younger and so much cooler.

Sam was still watching him, waiting for an answer.

Dean scratched the back of his neck. On the other hand, _Mom. _They couldn't just leave her there, alive or dead. They had to figure out a way to reach her, no matter what.

But after that…Sam looked exhausted. Not just because of the Survivor: Monster World they'd just left, or Kaia's death, or Jack's loss. This wasn't too-long-hunt tired, but too-long-life weary. It really wasn't a surprise that there was no passion left in Sam's eyes, no hope flickering in his expression.

And it turned out Dean knew his answer after all. "We have to find a way to get Mom back first. But after that…I will if you will."

Sam shifted where he stood. Dean noticed him flexing fingers that were stiff with unadmitted arthritis. He finally jammed them into his pockets, his version of Dean's defensive crossed arms. "Dean…"

"I'm not sayin' you have to retire with me. You know we could figure out a way to get you back in school." Frank and Charlie had taught Dean enough to do the forgeries right. "Or you can see what Amelia's up to these days. Or, I don't know, find a job in a library someplace. Something not bloody."

"What about you?" Sam asked quietly. "What would you be doing while I white-picket-fenced it?"

Dean scoffed. "Dude, don't worry about me. I got a nest egg I could live off of until I'm a hundred. I can always go fix cars or something if I get bored."

"Go hunting on weekends?" Sam asked with a small smile. "Keep doing 'just one more'?"

"Maybe," Dean shot back.

Sam was already shaking his head. "That's not what I want."

Dean's arms uncrossed to fly up in exasperation. "Then what—?"

"I don't know, okay?" Sam sounded and looked so desperate that Dean wanted to punch something. "I don't know. Maybe there are no good options left. Maybe there never were."

This wasn't helping, and all he wanted right now was to help. Dean banked his own fears and desires and focused on the guy in front of him. "Sammy," he said gently. "We'll figure it out. I swear. And if we don't, we're gonna have this conversation again. Okay?"

Sam nodded slowly. His smile trembled, but it was more real than it had been for some time. "Yeah. Okay." He still sounded beat…but maybe not so beaten anymore.

Dean would take it.

**The End**


End file.
